


cool waters

by yolks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 69, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolks/pseuds/yolks
Summary: The logistics of first times.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Kudos: 41





	cool waters

**Author's Note:**

> sylvain: exists  
> me: :}

The last thing Sylvain heard Claude say before the wetness took over was, “You just have to enjoy it,” and if he was being honest with himself, he has no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, because it’s not like he isn’t. It’s just that his anxiety is shooting lines of red lasers everywhere in the bedroom he’s in and he has to work around the damn things. 

But that’s two minutes ago. 

Some of the lasers have disappeared, leaving more space for Sylvain to focus on more important things. Like the way Claude’s running his lips over Sylvain’s taint, tongue dipping into his hole every few seconds; the way he’s steadying Sylvain with his hands, calloused grip over the flesh of his hips. 

“Oh fuck, oh – fuck, fuck, ah –”

Litanies. Over and over. Praising, singing. But Claude did say no one was home. 

(“Where’s everyone?”

“Dorothea’s at some party. The rest have gone back home for the break. It’s just you and me.” 

“Cool.” He liked Dorothea, from the two seconds of interaction they had a few days ago on campus. Sylvain poked his head into the living room where an episode of _The Office_ is paused. “You like this show?” 

“Yeah, it’s funny.”)

So thank God for that. And thank God for oral. The guy’s working him open; Sylvain is reduced to sounds and feelings. He gasps. A finger, probably two, goes in – did that have lube on it, it’s not like he dislikes it but it’s just that he doesn’t actually like it either – but then the slickness of Claude’s mouth is back and he hums, surprised, high in his throat, breathy in the tail end. 

“Oh that's so nice,” he slurs. “That's really good.”

Ah, Sylvain was supposed to be blowing him. He guiltily grabs the base of Claude’s hard dick. He lets out a nervous laugh, blinking, head fuzzy-numb. “I kinda forgot about you.” He groans, a sound followed by more disgusting, desperate, stupid-dirty moaning, and Claude’s soft “That’s okay,” gets buried somewhere under them.

Claude’s been so nice to him, so Sylvain tries. He wraps his mouth around the head and goes down a few times, but Claude grabs him by the hip and pulls him back, and does _something_ with his lips, and Sylvain can’t focus. He buries his moan into the top of Claude’s knee, short nails scraping against his thighs. 

_Meet me at the traffic lights_ , Claude texted about an hour and a half ago, first letter capitalised and no full stop as always. He picked Sylvain up in his silver X-Trail like a tin can in the oil blackness of midnight. A knight in shining tin can. Well – a guy. Just a guy. Some gorgeous, jade-eyed guy. The inside of the car smelled like the deodorant Claude uses. Claude asked him how he was. “Kinda on edge for no reason,” Sylvain replied, and Claude said, “That sucks,” and then started talking about how the sidewalks in his neighbourhood are kinda shit. 

The first time they met up, Claude drove over to Sylvain’s flat. Then he had slept over. He kept Sylvain pressed against him all through the night, kissed his nape from time to time. It was nice in an unexpected, foreign way. Kind of. Sylvain was annoyed at how he couldn’t sprawl out and starfish and move around like he usually does. He didn’t get much sleep. The “You kept me up all night,” the next morning was more of a complaint than anything. Claude took it with a half-smile and a soft, “Sorry.”

It’s been four days since then, melding into one another, fuzzy and numbing and too sharp at times.

Sylvain’s enjoying _this_ , at least. (Okay – losing himself in it to keep the anxiety at bay. Same difference.) _This_ is the small part of the bigger _It_. He can take out bits of It and frame them gold and leave the rest pooled by his feet where he’d kick them away. It’s dangerous living, he knows, but his libido sure doesn’t.

It doesn’t feel like a fire the way everyone says it does. It’s sweaty and shivery and slick. His dick’s rubbing against Claude’s hipbone and he’s trying not to come yet. He almost gasps out Claude’s name when Claude’s mouth does something quick. Almost.

“Sf-fuck,” he stutters instead, hip bucking forward, then back, back against Claude’s mouth, the heavenly warm fucking thing it is, and moans, whiny and embarrassing. He likes this rhythm. He keeps it going. He has given up on blowing Claude. He wonders if Claude’s truly, really fine with that. The heat in his lower belly pools; the pressure of his orgasm gets stronger. His dick twitches. His body shudders. He comes with a long, stuttered sigh, unable to keep still. Claude’s hold gets firmer as he eats Sylvain through the tremors.

In the midst of the buzzing in his head and the white in his vision, he hears Claude’s airy, “All good?” He doesn’t sound like he’s been buried in Sylvain’s crack for half an hour. 

Sylvain lifts his right leg over Claude’s torso and falls limply on the other side of the bed, breathing hard. “I think I got some on your leg.” 

“Did you even touch yourself?”

Sylvain rises to a seated position. He takes Claude’s still hard dick in his hand. “No sir.”

“Shit. That’s hot.” 

“Really?” Sylvain shoots Claude a smile and sucks the tip, getting it wet as possible. Claude’s hand buries itself in Sylvain’s hair and he lets out a quiet breath as Sylvain takes more of him in.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you could come just from me fucking you.”

Sylvain’s chest flutters at the words. His mouth is so full. His throat is tight. There’s tears in the corner of his eyes already, and he’s on the verge of gagging. He loves it. This is another thing he can lose himself in.

For a while it’s just Claude’s quiet, breathy groans. He keeps fucking up into Sylvain’s throat and stroking his hair. The first time Sylvain blew him, Claude said he was actually really good. Sylvain told him he was just saying that, and Claude said _I’m serious. You said this was your first time?_

Sylvain pulls off and alternates using his hand and mouth. He glances at Claude. He’s already looking at Sylvain, all heavy lidded, from sleep or from lust, Sylvain doesn’t know. 

“Tired?” Claude asks. 

“Sleepy.” Sylvain goes for quick, hard strokes. 

“I’m close.” 

He leans in and opens his mouth. 

“Oh,” Claude whispers. 

When Claude comes, Sylvain catches it all, lets it fall onto his tongue, lips, and cheeks. He swallows, wiping his chin with his fingers, and gives Claude a bright smile when he’s all done. “Tastes better than I thought.”

Claude snorts. “What’s it taste like?”

“Kinda sweet. Wanna try?”

“Not really. Maybe one day.” Claude lets one arm fall to one side, scooting over to the left and pushing hair off his forehead. “C’mere.”

Ah, so it _will_ be like last time. Cuddles. But more naked. Sylvain hops off the bed to locate his briefs and slip them back on, then settles into the space Claude makes for him. 

“You good?” Claude sounds pleased and sleepy.

“Yeah, very.”

The contours of Claude’s body feel foreign still. Sylvain wonders how many potential freak-outs occur worldwide due to unfamiliar cuddling. Claude’s got nice arms, though, thick and firm and sturdy, so Sylvain zeroes in on the feeling of one of them laid over his ribs, just under his chest, and wraps Claude’s hand in his own. 

There’s a whisper of a kiss on the back of Sylvain’s neck. There’s a coiling in his chest that’s halfway unpleasant. There’s Sylvain, spooned by a semi-stranger that just ate him out and made him come without ever touching him.

**Author's Note:**

> im on twt @eggovereazy <3


End file.
